I went to an Earth Day fair yesterday at the Palo Alto Art Center in California, not entirely sure what to expect, but hopeful. Earth Day events have a reputation of gathering energy—people, ideas, momentum.
This one… didn’t. At least, not at first.
The space felt too big for the number of people there. Booths were spread out. Attendance was clearly lower than expected. My first reaction was immediate: Oh no, this is kind of sad. I may have just wasted my time. I considered leaving.
But I had come with the idea that I might find some relevant for our Evolving Stories section, so instead of heading out, I stayed. And because it was quiet, something unexpected happened—it became easy to talk to people and I found several possibilities in my community that felt like comfortable ways for me to become more involved.
What Was There, Beneath the Surface
As I walked around, one organization caught my eye, Acterra. I had volunteered with them years ago and was curious what they were doing now. As I spoke with them about their volunteer opportunities, one immediately clicked. They host electric vehicle events and invite everyday EV owners to simply show up, park, and talk to people who are curious—but hesitant.
No big commitment. No pressure. Just real conversations. This is something I can do.
We’ve had our electric car for about six months now, and I’ve already had countless conversations with friends navigating “range anxiety.” In some places, that concern is real. Here in the Bay Area, it’s far less so. It struck me how meaningful it might be to just… be there. To answer questions honestly. To help reduce fear through lived experience.
Small action. Real impact.
Another organization, Environmental Volunteers, offers training for people to teach nature science to kids—both in classrooms and out on field trips. No prior experience required.
A friend of mine became a naturalist and now leads field trips in Sonoma. He loves it—deeply. When he told me about it, he laughed that full, heartfelt laugh of his, the kind that comes from being genuinely delighted. He talked about kids encountering something unexpected in nature—sometimes even something a little “gross,” like kissing a banana slug (which, apparently, makes your lips go numb, I’m not about to test this myself). And the joy of it. The surprise. The connection.
That stayed with me.
With my background in geology, I have periodically wondered what it might be like to step into something like that but I had not previously found a program that didn’t require more time and energy than I have time for right now. This program seems like a real possibility for me.
They also host community events caled BioBlitzes, where people (adults and children) document plant and animal life using tools like the iNaturalist app—contributing to real ecological data while simply paying closer attention.
That resonates. When I’m out with my camera, I’m not just walking—I’m looking. Really looking. And in that shift, what would typically be unseen becomes extraordinary.
Teaching the Next Generation
There were also a number of activities for kids, which felt like the quiet heart of the event.
One booth invited children to “plant a dream.” Each child decorated a compostable pot, wrote something on a rock, and placed it inside. I found myself wishing there were seeds—something they could watch grow—but the children were fully engaged. That seems to be enough.
Another recurring theme was pollinator gardens—small, overlooked patches of land transformed into habitats for hummingbirds, butterflies, and bees. The City of Palo Alto has been creating these in unexpected places, and I realized this is the second time in a few weeks I’ve been nudged to do something similar at home.
A small patch of weeds could become something alive.
The Story Beneath the Story
What stayed with me wasn’t any single booth. It was the pattern underneath it all.
Teach children to connect with nature early, and it shapes how they move through the world—for life.
Again and again, I saw small, tangible ways people are doing exactly that. Not through grand gestures or large-scale events, but through consistent, local, often quiet efforts.
It didn’t look like much at first glance.
But it was something.
A Gentle Invitation
Opportunities to engage with the living world are everywhere. They just don’t always announce themselves loudly.
You might:
- Join a local nature walk
- Volunteer to teach or guide
- Pick up trash along a creek
- Plant something that supports pollinators
- Or simply start paying closer attention
Apps like iNaturalist (for all forms of life) and Merlin Bird ID (for birds) make this easy—and surprisingly fun. I use Merlin all the time. There’s something powerful about being able to name what you’re hearing or seeing.
It changes the relationship.
Just like learning a person’s name is the first step toward friendship, learning the names of the beings around us is a step toward feeling at home in the natural world.
And from there, everything begins to shift.
